Haunted
by Heartbeat101
Summary: A new case--and the stakes have just gone up. But Peter's past is coming back to bite him, and Walter is keeping secrets...watch out Olivia. This one's for real. Peter/Olivia
1. Prologue

**Title:** Haunted

**Summary: **A new case—and the stakes have just gone up. But Peter's past has come back to bite him, and Walter is keeping secrets…watch out Olivia. This one's for real.

A/N: Disregard the last few scenes of "Safe" (the parts where Michael tells on Peter, and Olivia is captured). Otherwise, set post-Safe, ignoring the previews for Bound.

Disclaimer: Written because I've been Fringe deprived. I hope you don't actually think I _own _this show.

_Prologue_

It was cold outside, and windy. The first few drops of rain were beginning to hit the pavement with increasing frequency. Michael pulled the edges of his jean jacket in tighter, and bent his head against the cold. Just a few more steps. _Should have worn a hat._

The bell on the door jangled as he pushed it open, hurrying to get out of the elements. Warm air enveloped him as he stepped inside, stamping the numbness out of his feet and scanning the room for his contact.

There. He zeroed in on an older man and a girl, sitting in a booth in the darkest corner of the room, as isolated as possible from the bustle and chatter of the rest. He made his way over to them, winding through the maze of tables and chairs. A barmaid carrying a tray of empty glasses bumped into him as she made her way across the floor.

He frowned at her. She blushed and mumbled an apology. He continued on, shaking his head. Any other day, he might have used the opportunity to cop a feel. But this wasn't just any other day.

"Michael," the old man greeted, "have a seat. You must be starving."

"Thanks. I am."

"You're late is what you are," the girl observed, slouching and flipping a strand of wildly curly brown hair over her shoulder. Her eyes, lined thickly with kohl and topped with glitter, regarded him with mild irritation. Close up she appeared older, maybe in her late teens or early twenties. It was the hair, Michael decided, that made her look younger.

"I was…unavoidably detained," he told her, matching her for irritation and raising her a glare. She sat up straight and appeared entirely willing to play, but the old man put a stop to it, placing a hand on her arm.

"Now, now, Nicolette," he chided. She sank back against the red leather of the booth and assumed a bored expression. It didn't entirely work—he could still see the annoyance in the backs of her eyes, and the set of her shoulders.

Not that he was feeling so relaxed, either. This pair made him nervous. Always had. But they were useful, so he kept coming. The problems he sent their way got fixed. Quick. And this was a problem that needed just that.

"So," the old man continued, "Why is it that you wanted to see us?"

Michael took a deep breath. "Peter Bishop."

The old man raised an eyebrow, and Michael forced himself to continue. "Peter Bishop…is back in town."

The old man went very still. Nicolette looked shocked, and then delighted before her face slid back into its impassive mask.

"We need him gone. He can't be causing trouble around here."

"Indeed," the old man mused. "Very well. Peter Bishop is no longer your concern, Michael. He will be taken care of."

A wicked smile slid onto Nicolette's lips. Michel thought it had a slightly disturbing edge to it. But the dismissal was clear. He got to his feet and bowed his head slightly.

"Thank you, Julius."

He didn't know the man's real name, Michael thought as he left, and that gave the other man an edge. But if worst came to worst, he could always skip town and start over. Peter seemed to have done alright. At least, until he was stupid enough to come back that is. For a supposed genius, he wasn't the brightest bulb in the shed.

Julius and Nicolette watched him go, very aware of what must have been going on in his mind.

"Do you think he'll run?" Nicolette asked.

Julius shook his head. "No. He'll wait it out. If things heat up, we won't see hide nor hair of him for weeks. But we don't need him anymore. We have what we came for."

"Finally," Nicolette complained. "I'm sick of this town. Nobody ever does anything fun."

"Your definition of fun, my dear," Julius remarked absently, "is probably quite different from that of the average citizen. But don't fret. There will be plenty of opportunity for you to stretch your wings once we find—"

"And Peter?"

"I want you to get him. Bring him in unharmed. We need information before you damage him with your antics."

"And then?" she persisted.

"Then? Why, then he is all yours."

"Good."

Nicolette stood and sidled out of the booth, shoving both hands into the back pockets of her jeans. Julius stood up and passed in front of her, heading toward the same exit Michael had just taken.

Patiently, she watched as he walked out. Then she turned and examined the prospects. The bar was about half full, which was not bad for a week night. But it only amounted to a baker's dozen, even so.

Somewhere else, then. She exited the pub and turned left, letting her feet wander until, fifteen minutes later, she spotted the bright lights of a supermarket shining against the night sky. Perfect.

She walked through the automatic doors and strode purposefully toward the center of the store. When she decided she had reached it, or was as close as she was going to get, she stood still. Her arms hung loosely by her sides, and she cracked her neck. Preparing.

And then she let go. The screams of the civilian shoppers echoed in her ears as she walked out again, a smile on her pale face.

-----------------------------------

I was trying to set this up like an actual episode. Which would make this the beginning of the case--the part where someone dies, or is kidnapped, or sees ghosts. You know. I'm hoping not to introduce too many OCs (two in the prologue alone!) but because Peter's past hasn't been really gone into, that will be difficult. Please be patient. This is my first foray into the world of sci-fi/mystery. Let me know if I'm overdoing it.

Please respond, and tell me what you think.


	2. The Case

Chapter One: The Case

Summary: Olivia, Peter, and Walter get called to the "scene of the crime"—which is unlike anything any of them have ever seen before. Or is it? Walter, are you sure you're telling the whole truth and nothing but?

I'd wanted to wait until we got a bit more information about Peter before I wrote anything else, but that clearly wasn't going to happen anytime soon. So, here it is. Timeframe, whenever. Post-No Brainer at this point. Hopefully, it will progress at the same pace as the show. I'll try and update every Wednesday--after the new episode.

DISCLAIMER: don't own Fringe. This goes for all chapters, etc. etc.

---

The phone rang, startling Olivia from an uneasy doze. She groped around until she found the chain on her lamp and gave it a sharp tug. Light flooded the bedroom, making her wince and squint.

Her cell buzzed again.

After a quick check for caller ID she flipped it open. "Olivia Dunham."

"Agent Dunham, get the team together as quickly as possible, and meet me on the corner of Washington and Main. There's been an emergency." Broyles' voice was grim.

Olivia blinked, and stared at the neon display of her alarm clock, trying to make sense of the numbers. "Pattern related?"

"I'll see you shortly."

There was a click, and Olivia suddenly found herself listening to the dial tone. Bastard. It was four fifteen in the morning.

She heaved an internal sigh and rolled out of bed. Well, at least there was coffee in the kitchen.

--------

As she'd expected, Peter wasn't particularly happy to see her. He stood leaning in the doorframe of the apartment, frowning sleepily at her.

"What now?"

Cranky. She raised an eyebrow. "I'll give you three guesses, and the first two don't count."

He opened his mouth to snap back a response, but Walter beat him to it. "Peter? Is that Olivia?"

"Yes," Olivia said loudly, looking over Peter's shoulder to meet Walter's eyes, "Broyles called. He wants us out there now."

"Lovely. A new case." Walter said. "That's wonderful news."

"No," Peter said, "It's really not."

And he shut the door in Olivia's face. She moved away to lean against the opposite wall, closing her eyes. Could humans fall asleep standing up?

After fifteen minutes the door opened, and Walter emerged, stumbling a bit over the raised doorstep.

"Must try to remember that…" he muttered to himself.

Peter was out a moment later, in a rumpled t-shirt and jeans, closing the door quietly. Olivia pushed away from the wall and led the way down the corridor. In a few swift strides Peter caught up to her.

"What's up this time?"

"I'll fill you in on the way," she told him. He shut his mouth, accepting this. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Weariness was etched into every line of his face, but his eyes were clear and alert as they slid over to meet hers.

She smiled and looked away. He waited until they were in the car and en route to the supermarket to begin the interrogation.

"What happened?"

She craned her neck away from the passenger's side to check her blind spot, and verifying that it was clear, switched lanes. "I don't know."

Peter shot her a glance that was pure annoyance. "You said you were going to fill me in."

She took her eyes off the road long enough to give him a smile. "You know I would, if I could. But I don't know anything either."

His exasperated face faltered, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a small smile. "And here I was, thinking you were the girl who knew everything."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"Don't worry, Olivia," Walter said from the backseat, "I continue to hold you in the same high regard as before."

Peter's eyebrow twitched. Olivia choked back a laugh. "Thank you."

But then they turned the corner, and all humor slipped away. The supermarket was closed off by a wide circle of yellow tape, and the area was swarming with people—police, EMTs. Olivia stopped the car and got out quickly, ducking under the yellow tape.

"There you are, Agent Dunham. Bishop."

Broyles appeared at her elbow, and nodded to Peter. Olivia glanced around for Walter, but he was already making his way toward the entrance of the store. She followed him quickly, Broyles speaking as they went.

"A civilian living across the street called in just an hour and a half ago. They said they heard screaming coming from the supermarket across the street. The officer who picked up the phone told her to stay inside, and sent a team out."

He paused, opening the door for her and holding it. "This is what they found."

Olivia stepped inside, eyeing the sparking fluorescent lights warily. But when she caught sight of the interior of the store, she forgot all about potential fire hazards and gasped.

There were people, strewn across the linoleum floor…or at least, they had been people. Now they were corpses…with parts missing. The bodies looked like they'd been _torn_ apart—ugh. She bit her tongue and took a deep breath through her nose, fighting back her gag reflex.

Peter stepped in behind her. "Olivia? What's—oh, sweet Jesus."

Walter was already busy examining the parts that were left, latex gloves and goggles already smeared with what had to be blood.

"Peter," he called, "get me several of those test tubes. I want to take these samples back to the lab with us."

Peter rolled his eyes and went to fetch them. "Sir, yes sir."

Olivia took a step closer and crouched down near the scientist. "Walter, do you have any idea what could have done this?"

Walter jumped slightly, startled, "What?"

Olivia patiently repeated her question. He paused, taking the test tubes Peter had brought and carefully filling, capping, and storing them away in a rectangular plastic box. "I—no. No, I really have no idea."

He was lying to them. Olivia blinked.

"Walter," Peter began warningly, but his father was already on his feet, moving away.

"He's keeping something from us." Olivia noted aloud.

Peter nodded. "I'll get it out of him eventually. Sometimes his forgetfulness can come in handy—he won't remember what he's supposed to be _not_ telling us."

---------------------------

Back at the lab, things were grim, serious, and just to the left of normal. Walter was refusing to talk, Olivia was out, and Peter was angry. Astrid was only trying to keep it together, but even that was becoming more and more difficult, with each glare and barbed comment the father and son snapped at each other.

"Astarith, would you bring me the silver nitrate solution?"

"Astrid, Walter, her name is Astrid. But why should I expect you to remember to call her that, when you don't even share the things you _do_ remember?"

"I remember that your mother always used to scold you for being a scatterbrained child."

Peter huffed in frustration. "No, Walter, that was _you_. She would call you scatterbrained."

"Really?"

And so they went. Peter throwing out not-so-subtle hints, and Walter skillfully turning him onto another topic, until Peter caught on and threw out another hint, beginning the cycle over again.

Because truthfully, Walter was much more aware than anyone gave him credit for. It took a man with a ridiculous IQ to manipulate another man with one very similar. In other words, it took a Walter to push the buttons of a Peter. And he was doing a damn good job of it, too.

…when did Olivia say she was going to be back?

"Walter, I swear to God if you don't—"

BRRRRRRING.

Astrid pounced on the phone almost immediately, gesturing violently for silence. "Hello?"

There was a pause on the other end, and then a woman's voice said timidly, "Excuse me, but can I please speak to Peter Bishop?"

"Yeah," Astrid was surprised, but more than that, a bit suspicious, "Of course."

Peter was looking at her now, and she held out the phone. He took the steps two at a time and accepted it. "Peter Bishop."

The woman on the other end said something back, and his back stiffened. Astrid strained her ears to hear. His eyes flashed up to meet hers, and he turned sharply on his heel, striding out of eavesdropping range.

So she went down to see if she could be any use to Walter, and resolved to keep an eye on Peter for the next few days. She remembered what had happened the last time a woman had called for Peter, and how he had tried to hide it.

--------------------------

"No."

A loud sigh echoed across the line, and Peter moved the phone a bit farther from his ear. "Peter, don't do this. You _know_ the rules."

He said nothing. She continued.

"He's gone to Rome for help, Peter. Pompeii—the one with the volcano."

His hand tightened on the receiver, and the plastic squeaked in protest. "Is someone in the room with you?"

She didn't answer. He didn't repeat the question. Instead, he hung up. Astrid was still staring at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

But really, he had bigger things to worry about at the moment. Such as how the _hell_ he was going to get Julius—or, more importantly, Big Eddie—off his tail.

--------------------

It's short. So sue me. Or, actually, don't. Please.

I love reviewers. And guess what? You could be one too! Just click the pretty button below, and leave me a message.


	3. Grasping at Straws

Chapter 2: Inquiries and Secrets

Summary: With what little information she has, Olivia attempts to find a lead—or anything even vaguely _resembling_ a lead. Peter does some investigation of his own, strictly off the books. Walter is...well, Walter.

----

Olivia was frustrated.

"Walter, are you _positive_ you can't tell me what caused this?"

For what must have been at least the eighth time, he said. "I'm sorry, I can't remember."

She looked at him suspiciously. Really, that excuse was becoming far too convenient. "So you have nothing for me."

"I wouldn't say that, exactly."

Olivia immediately latched on to the hint. "So maybe you do have something?"

"I believe so. Come and take a look at this, Agent Dunham."

He led her to the table in the middle of the lab, where the blood and tissue samples were organized neatly into rows and color coded. Astrid's work, she supposed. Trying to inject a little order into the chaos she was surrounded with.

He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a scalpel. Olivia took a discreet step back.

"Now, I've examined the lacerations quite thoroughly." He told her, poking the edges of the skin samples. Olivia suppressed a shudder. "Well enough to determine that they are not, in fact, really lacerations."

"Then what are they?"

"The edges are jagged. You see?"

She looked. And regretted it immediately. "Yes."

"These were not made by a knife, or an axe, or any other such instrument. These limbs were forcibly torn away from their original positions. And not by a machine either, or they would all have ruptured in the same pattern."

Olivia stared, shocked. _Forcibly tor—oh my God. _

"Walter," she said slowly, "Are you saying that…a _person_ did all this?"

"More than one, I suspect, but yes. That is exactly what I am saying." He stood and moved away from the table, peeling off the gloves. She remained standing, in the middle of the room. Her mind was racing.

Torn apart. Torn apart by other people. That was new. It looked like she would need to research something—super strength? What made people tear their companions to pieces?

Faintly, as if from a great distance, she heard Walter say, "If you're going out, would you be so kind as to bring me some of those twisted candy ropes? The red, not the black ones."

"Sure," she said absently. She moved away from the table and crossed the room with quick strides, snatching up her coat and taking the steps two at a time. "I'll be back in a couple hours. Call me if you find anything else."

--------

Peter rubbed his hands together, trying to get the blood flowing more quickly. This sudden drop in temperature was unexpected—he was only wearing a sweatshirt and a baseball cap. But it _had_ been his idea to meet here; in hindsight, he should have chosen someplace indoors.

There was someone behind him now. He could feel the slight disturbance of air near his neck as a hand reached out to touch him.

He twisted around and grabbed it, smiling slightly. "Hey there. Long time no see, huh?"

The girl they called Nicolette glared at him in irritation. "You haven't changed."

She was dressed much more appropriately for the weather in an overlarge red windbreaker that nearly brushed her knees. A ski cap kept her wild curls from falling into her face, and obscuring her vision. If she could actually see _anything_ with all that mascara on in the first place.

"Don't hold your breath," he told her, in response to her earlier comment. She simply shrugged and folded her arms.

"Why are you back in town?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What, you mean you don't know already?" She scowled. "I'm here taking care of my psychotic father, who is currently in the middle of an FBI investigation."

Her lips twitched up into what might have been a smirk, but vanished too quickly for him to be sure.

"Now it's my turn to ask a question. Why are you following me?"

She looked at him like he was stupid. "You made a lot of people angry the last time you were in town, Peter Bishop."

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance with all the ease of an expert poker player, but on the inside his heart was pounding. "I always do. But why would they come to you, of all people? No offense, sweetheart, but you don't look all that threatening."

Her smile was almost angelic—would have been, if not for the viciousness in her eyes. "You of all people should know that looks can be deceiving."

Yeah. He knew.

"Well, I'm asking you to stop."

She just rolled her eyes at him and turned around to walk away."This meeting was a total waste of time."

"And, Nicolette?" he called after her. She stopped and tilted her head towards him. "Know that the next time this happens, I won't be asking nicely."

She just laughed and continued on her way. He watched her until she faded from sight, then reached into a pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

"Did you get a good look at her, Dmitri?"

Static crackled along the line, and a voice answered appreciatively, "Yeah. Real good."

Peter turned to glare at the coffeehouse across the street. From inside, a man grinned cheekily and waved. Peter decided not to encourage him, and turned back around.

"Find out what she's planning, who she's meeting with, and I'll call us even."

"All debts repaid?"

Peter smirked. "Well, most of them, anyway."

There was a loud sigh, then, "Deal."

-----------------------------------

Walter was staring at the skin samples again. He'd been doing that on and off for the past four and a half hours or so—sit and stare, mutter and walk around, stop. Repeat.

It was starting to get on Astrid's nerves.

She knew she'd signed up for this, and was getting paid for being pretty much a glorified babysitter. They never really needed her other skills—which was rather depressing, actually, since she'd devoted almost ten years of her life to the study of linguistics. She could have just skipped the degree and taken Chemistry 101.

"Asterine, would you get me the silver nitrate?"

Yep. She was back to naming compounds. "Silver…Ag. AgNO…4?"

"Yes, yes girl. Bring it here."

So she did. Does. Fetching and carrying and waiting. "Has Peter called yet? Or Olivia?"

"Peter," Walter muttered. "My son. But he isn't color blind. His mother was. It's more common in males, but she was homozygous recessive for colorblindness. I was heterozygous—a carrier, so to speak, leaving any children of ours with a fifty percent chance of colorblindness."

"That's very nice, Walter, but has he _called you_."

"No, my dear, I called _him_ Peter. I had _my_ name long before he was born."

She gave up. And then, of course, the phone rang.

------------------

Because she didn't know where to start, Olivia found herself turning automatically onto the street that would take her to the Federal Building. Charlie, she knew, would help her. And Broyles, if he could.

Or maybe he would just give her a list of things _not_ to do. And Harris would have to be avoided at all costs.

A few people nodded and smiled at her as she navigated through the office traffic; she smiled back. But it was an unnatural, forced twitch of the lips. No one noticed, though, until Charlie. Of course he saw right through it.

"What do you need, Liv?"

"A miracle. But if you have a place to begin, that would be okay too." She leaned back against his desk, resting her elbow on the top of his computer.

He gave her an absent smile, but his eyes were troubled. "I'm afraid we're running pretty low on miracles right now. The people in forensics finished analyzing the DNA and putting the pieces of our cadavers together. I'll let you talk to them yourself."

She had the sinking feeling she already knew what they would say. "That bad?"

He told her where to find the lab.

In all her years with the FBI, she'd never visited this particular lab. They used it mainly for analysis of unidentifiable victims of large scale tragedies—plane crashes, bombings. Random supermarket people torn apart.

"Olivia Dunham?"

A young woman in a white coat and jeans approached her with quick, confident strides. Her light brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail, showing off earrings shaped like double helices.

"Yes."

The woman stopped and smiled, entirely too cheerful. "My name is Katarina Snyder. I have the supermarket case."

Olivia nodded in greeting, slowly. "What have you found?"

The smile on the scientist's face faded. "I…well, it doesn't seem to make sense. We've examined the leukocyte DNA of all the parts they brought in, and managed to make twenty two relatively complete persons. There was nothing we found that didn't match up with a corpse."

"So no mass murderer slipped and left blood at the scene of the crime, then?"

"Well, that's where we ran into problems. You see, we did find something—one strand of DNA that didn't fit. But it makes no sense, either—the complimentary base pairs were so skewed there's no way it could possibly belong to a functioning human being. There were SNPs in that strand that we've never even heard of before."

"SNPs?"

"Snips. Little parts of DNA. Sometimes, when DNA gets copied things get modified slightly. Then you get a mutation, or an auto-immune disease, or some other change. Fairly common—but nothing like this. I was just going over it again as you came in."

Olivia nodded, and wished Walter had come with her. He would have been able to make sense of what this woman was saying—and then probably do something about it. But he wasn't there, and she herself didn't really understand, and those were facts.

So she had no leads, no killers, and two dozen corpses with no sign of an end. Sometimes she felt like life would just hit her until she broke.

And then, like a gift from above, her cell phone rang. She flipped it open, and Peter Bishop's voice echoed across the line.

"Hey. I've got something for you. Or someone, actually. Astrid told me you went out—so meet me back at the lab in ten."

And maybe miracles did happen.

-------------------------

Note: I know this included some technical DNA jargon. If there are any geneticists reading this, I would greatly appreciate your evaluation :)

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! Please continue!


	4. Supermarket Girl

_Summary:_ _Thank God for friends in strange places. Or, rather, Olivia thanks God for Peter's friends in strange places. Too bad Walter isn't being any less clam-like. But maybe they won't need his help after all…_

Disclaimer: Don't own Fringe.

----------------------------------

She was so happy at that moment, she could have kissed Peter. On the lips, in front of her boss. But she managed to restrain herself.

"This was the girl who came out of the supermarket? After the explosion?"

Olivia examined the photograph she held in her hand. A wild-haired young woman in a red jacket slouched against a telephone pole, her head tilted toward someone outside the camera's range. She had a strong profile, and a pale face that Olivia made sure she committed to memory.

Peter leaned over to take another look, his chest brushing up against her shoulder. "Yeah, that's her."

"Where did you get this?"

Peter looked at her sharply, and she could have smacked herself. She'd almost forgotten about Broyles.

He was watching them both with a raised eyebrow and calculating eyes. They both waited. Finally, he dipped his head, and Olivia breathed a sigh of relief. _Just this once_, his eyes assured her, _Just this once I will let him be._

But that was okay—she wouldn't slip up again.

Peter shifted away from her, and instinctively she took a step sideways toward him. Then her brain caught up with her body and she forced herself to stay put. _Case. Dead people. Focus. _

"The girl's name is Nicolette. No last name known. But she's known to have been involved in some shady stuff before this—I'll take a wild guess and say she's messing around here too."

His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched as he said this, Olivia noted. He was keeping something to himself. Suddenly she was irritated. First Walter, now Peter…at least Astrid was still being honest with her.

_I think._

"So where can we find this girl?" Broyles asked.

Peter shoved his hands into his pockets and eyed them both. "Mary's Pub. Weekday nights—she'll probably be there in about an hour."

Olivia glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. All right. She exchanged at glance with Broyles, and he nodded at her.

"Plainclothes. Reconnaissance only," he warned, "until the elder Mr. Bishop comes up with a better lead for you."

"Yes, sir."

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he flipped it open with a flick of his fingers. Olivia took that as her cue to leave; Peter was already halfway down the hall. Broyles glanced back at her.

"Agent Dunham? Be careful. And bring a gun."

--------------------------

Walter was confused. That in itself was cause for amazement. But not only was he confused, he was asking her for help.

She wondered if he'd remembered to take his medication.

"Now, Asterine, I want you to think very carefully. The power to control those around you. How would you go about it? Through some kind of persuasion? Force? No, no keep your eyes closed, damn it!"

Astrid quickly shut the dubious eye she had cracked open. Role playing. Oh boy.

"Umm…controlling other people. Like…mind control? Zombies?"

"Be rational child, this isn't a horror film!"

Wasn't it?

"Okay. No mind control. Fine. Then I'd say force. Or manipulation—like blackmail."

There was a long pause. Walter's shoes squeaked on the floor as he paced. "Interesting, yes, very…but not what we are focused on at the moment. There will be time for that later. Maybe we are going about this in the wrong fashion. You may open your eyes now, Agent."

Her eyes popped open, and she almost heaved a sigh of relief. That had been too weird.

"Now, my dear, tell me something. Suspend all thoughts of reality. If I told you those people were ripped apart limb from limb, what would you think?"

"Walter! That's disgusting!"

He snapped his fingers at her impatiently. "After that! Who would you immediately consider a suspect?"

"Nobody! People can't tear other people apart; physically it can't happen. Well, maybe if you were Superman on crack or something…Walter?"

He was staring at her with a look of shocked wonder on his face. She shifted uncomfortably, unused to the attention. No one had ever given her a look like that in _this_ lab.

"But of course! How could I have overlooked it! Even you picked up on it!"

…and then the moment was over, and she was back to being just the lab assistant without the right degree.

Which, if she were being honest, was perfectly all right with her.

"Come on Astarith, quickly! Bring me that benzaldehyde, and the nitric acid…"

----------------------------------

Olivia waited until they were both in the car to ask him about the girl. This way, he couldn't deflect and walk away.

"Are you going to tell me how you know her?"

"No."

"Why not?" She slowed down and pulled to a stop before the red light, using the opportunity to take a look at him. He stared straight ahead. He had his poker face in place—she wouldn't be getting anything out of that.

"Because."

"I see. Are you going to give me anything more than a one-word answer?"

His lips twitched briefly. Her eyes followed the movement. "No."

The loud honk of a horn behind them startled her, and she jerked her attention back to the road. "What if I told you I needed a witness to testify against her to put this girl behind bars?"

His head snapped over and he stared at her. "I don't think so. I put my ass on the line already to get you this far; my part in this is done."

Finally.

"Really. So you do know this girl. And, obviously, she knows you. But now you're not on speaking terms. What happened?"

He clammed up again and refused to answer. She briefly considered letting him be for the moment, and getting Charlie to help her pry some answers out of Peter later on. By sitting on him, if necessary.

Maybe the threat of it would be enough? No, he wouldn't respond to threats of violence. So, "Fine. Don't tell me anything. But I hope, for the sake of Charlie and myself, that you're not holding back anything important. Because we're going in alone and completely uninformed."

They had arrived at the lab. Olivia shut off the car without looking at him and got out to wait in her little office.

During the next twenty minutes she finished Sudoku in the local paper, and filled out approximately one quarter of last Tuesday's New York Times crossword puzzle.

_Any minute now._

"Olivia?"

Peter stood in the doorway of her tiny office, leaning against the frame. She gave him a half smile and a nod.

"Peter." Her insides were doing a little victory dance.

"Tell Charlie you won't be needing him tonight."

What?

"I'm coming with you."

Oh dear God.

------------------------------------

An hour and a half later, they were feeding the parking meter across the street from Mary's Pub. A large faded sign hung over the doorway, and another in neon letters across the window advertised Budweiser.

The purple and blue paint was chipping, and long scratches marred the window where it looked like it had been subjected to the business end of a house key. Olivia raised an eyebrow.

"Classy place."

Peter shrugged. "They think so."

She looked at him. "They?"

He shook his head. "You know better than that, Liv. It won't be that easy."

He wasn't wearing his poker face—not exactly. This was one she hadn't ever seen before. He was smiling, but it wasn't a nice smile. His eyes were cold as ice. She knew instinctively that the Peter she knew was gone, replaced by…whoever he had become the last time he was here. She would tread carefully tonight.

He was unpredictable enough as the man she knew—how much more so would he be as a man she didn't?

They crossed the street together, and he courteously opened the door for her and held it. She stepped inside cautiously. There were not many people for a Friday night, but that might have been due to the overall seediness of the bar.

She grimaced as a woman sitting across the floor winked one heavily made up eye at Peter. An arm snaked around her waist, startling her.

"Don't worry," Peter whispered, close to her ear, "I won't forget what we came for."

_Breathe. In. Out._

"Good," Olivia managed.

He stepped away from her and smiled cryptically. "Let's go find a table."

Shaking her head, she followed him to a table. _My hormones and I have _got_ to have a talk. Soon. But not now._

He sat down across from her and ordered a beer. She ordered a sandwich and water—no ice. Then she began to discretely scan the rest of the room for the girl. Nicolette?

Nothing. Or, at least, not yet. She turned back to Peter.

"So. What do I need to know about this girl?"

"Nicolette?"

She nodded. He paused, then said. "The first thing you should know is that's not her real name. It's a good safety net—nobody knows who anyone else really is. Or, at least, they aren't supposed to," he concluded bitterly.

And then the full realization of what he was doing hit her for the first time. This had been his old gang. He'd been involved with these people—illegally, more likely than not—and now he was helping her bring one of their members in. Or possibly the entire group, depending on how this questioning went.

And he was doing this visibly. Whatever happened to them, they would know he was responsible. She made a mental note to make sure there was someone with Peter at all times until the end of the investigation.

"They're also ruthless, Olivia. No, I won't tell you what they do," he said, rolling his eyes at her when she opened her mouth. She shut it, and he continued, "I would warn you not to get involved with them, but I think it's probably too late."

"You know, you don't have to do this," Olivia said.

Their gazes locked, and then his eyes slid upward and over her head.

"Too late," he repeated in a murmur.

Olivia twisted around in her chair, a sinking feeling in her stomach. A slender, curly haired young woman in a red jacket stood in the doorway next to an older man and another man in a suit.

Her lips slowly curved up into a smile. Teeth flashed, and then she turned to tug on the sleeve of the elderly man. He looked at her, and then he spun to stare at them as well.

Her heart sped up, and she turned back to Peter. He looked resigned, and maybe even a little bit sad. But he was looking at her again.

"Here we go."

--------------------------------------

A/N: So. I feel pretty awful about the wait on this chapter. Fringe stole the plotline for my story. You think I'm joking.

Anyway, I'm going to ask for a big favor. **The next chapter introduces Big Eddie & co.** I have seen all the episodes of Fringe, but I don't have time to re-watch them all. **If you could send me any/all information you remember about Peter's past **(PM, or review) I would be so grateful. It would make this story so much better!

Thank you!


	5. Superman

A/N: I died. I'm back. It's been a while, so you might want to skim the last chapter or so.

**Chapter 4**

Who _is_ this person wearing Peter Bishop's skin? Oh yeah, and Astrid says Walter's on to something. Which doesn't make much sense, because when Olivia asks him about it, he tells her…nothing. Back at the office, they called _her_ paranoid. She knows she has nothing on Walter.

____________________________________________________________________________

The girl made her way over to their table, and stood beside it. She was taller than Olivia had guessed from her photo—somewhere just over six feet. Muscled, long legs. She was wearing too much makeup, Olivia thought, and brushing her hair might not hurt either. Still, she doubted this girl was the type to take fashion tips kindly.

And besides, it wasn't like Olivia—sporting the usual black turtleneck and ponytail—was really one to talk.

Nicolette was grinning widely at Peter, a look of something very much like triumph in her eyes.

"Peter Bishop," she said, "and guest," she courteously included Olivia, without taking her gaze off Peter. "Come sit with us."

"Sorry, we were just leaving," Peter told her. His voice was cold as ice, and his words just made her smile widen.

Olivia looked at him askance. What was he _doing_? "Actually," she began, "we—"

Peter cut her off. "Have somewhere else to be. Come on, Liv."

He started to get up, and Nicolette's hand shot out to latch onto his arm. "Oh, come on." She wheedled, "Just for a minute. It'll be fun. For old times sake."

Her smile, Olivia decided, bore an uncanny resemblance to a shark's. Peter hesitated. Olivia answered for him. "Alright. We're coming."

The girl looped her arm through Peter's and took a step. Peter grabbed Olivia's hand and laced his fingers through hers, in plain sight. Nicolette's expression turned sour, and she dropped Peter's arm as though it had burned her.

Olivia sensed some unresolved issues between the two of them. She'd grill him about it later. Now she needed her wits about her; this was the break they'd been waiting for.

They slid into the corner booth across from an elderly man, who gave Olivia a warm smile. "Hello, my dear." He stuck his and out to her over the table. "My name is Julius."

"Olivia D—Olivia." She cut herself off, berating herself for the near miss. She wasn't used to working with people who could cause serious damage with a last name.

The old man's eyes sparkled as he watched her, and she was ninety percent sure he knew _exactly_ what she was thinking. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I can't say the same for you, Mr. Bishop," he added, turning to Peter. "I thought we made our conditions clear the last time we met."

Peter shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, but Olivia felt his hand tighten around hers. "Things change—it was unavoidable. You understand."

"We'll see. But I don't believe that is what you sought us out to discuss. Nicolette here tells me your lady is involved in a police investigation that might be of interest to us. Though I don't see how."

How the hell did she know that?

"But please," Julius turned back to Olivia, "Ask. We'd be delighted to help in any way possible."

This man gave her the willies. Even more so than Nicolette, who Olivia was sure had tiger blood running through her veins. The girl, though not built like a bodybuilder exactly, was far too intimidating.

She glanced at Peter for approval before beginning her questioning. "A few nights ago, I'm sure you heard, there was a tragedy at a supermarket about five blocks from here. The witness who called in identified Nicolette as being spotted exiting around the same time the disaster hit. I was wondering if you could shed any light on the matter," She addressed Nicolette now, who was watching her warily.

It was Julius who answered, "The papers were rather unclear—what exactly happened at the supermarket?"

Olivia kept her eyes trained on Nicolette as she answered, "All the shoppers—twenty-five or so people—were discovered dead. Torn apart. We suspect a wild animal of some sort."

A flash of vicious glee crossed Nicolette's face, and Olivia shivered. She knew what her instincts were telling her, but…

_That's not possible._

And yet, who was she to define the impossible? After all she'd seen in the past six months?

Julius was speaking again, "…afraid we can't help you with that one. All I can say is we're lucky Nicolette got out before that animal killed her as well."

Nicolette smirked slightly. Peter and Olivia exchanged glances.

"Very lucky," Peter acknowledged, getting to his feet. "Thank you for your time, but we need to get going."

"Very well." Julius leaned back in his seat. "But don't go too far, Peter. We'll be in touch regarding your breach in contract, and how you can make it up. Shortly."

Olivia sent them a polite smile before Peter all but dragged her out of there.

Once outside he let out sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus. I thought I was done with those two."

She knew better than to ask. "All my instincts are telling me Nicolette is responsible for this in some way…but I can't think how. A bomb won't work, nothing was destroyed."

He smiled crookedly. "Except the people."

She frowned, frustrated. "Yes. Except the people."

"Well, at least we know where to go with hunches like these."

Peter, Olivia decided, was entirely too carefree about the entire thing. Maybe because it wasn't his job on the line. She'd have to do something about that.

---------

Back at the lab, Walter couldn't be bothered to stop his work and pay attention to them. When she asked him what he was doing that was more important than their case, he pretended not to understand her.

"I'm sorry, Agent Dunham, but I have this very fascinating project—"

"Walter," Olivia said, in a forced reasonable tone, "It is imperative that we solve this case before any more people wind up losing their heads."

Peter snickered. "Too late." She rolled her eyes.

Astrid came in the front door, brushing her windblown hair out of her eyes and holding up a bag of takeout. "Chinese, anyone?"

"Yes, please," Peter said with a charming smile. Astrid smiled back and handed over the food.

Bad move. Olivia snatched it away with a reproving look and went to find plates. Walter's erratic eating patterns had led to a stash of silverware and plastic plates being stored in the lab, and soon they were all gathered around a low table, kept body-free for exactly this purpose.

"So Walter," Astrid remarked as they dug in, "have you told them about your breakthrough?"

Olivia dropped her fork. It clattered to the table with a sound that was much too loud in the ensuing silence. "Excuse me? What breakthrough?"

Walter laughed nervously. "Oh nothing, nothing at all I assure you. It was a dead end, my dear. I would have informed you had anything useful come up," he directed this at Astrid and Olivia both.

Astrid looked skeptical. Olivia looked murderous. Peter took the opportunity to snatch the rest of the Lo Mein.

"Well," Olivia seemed to have gotten her emotions in check (apparently it wasn't just lying to others she had to deal with on this case, it was being lied to by her own team) "tell us about this dead end. Maybe it will fit in with some new information Peter and I picked up today."

"New information?" Walter perked up.

"Quid pro quo, Walter," Peter mumbled around a mouthful of rice. Walter sighed.

"As you wish, although I warned you it was a dead end."

"Just tell us." Peter sounded impatient.

Walter sighed again. "I was remembering an old experiment Bellie and I worked on together, our first project as partners. The side effects and weaknesses of common steroids were just becoming made public, and the government—more specifically, the military—wanted a better alternative. We developed an artificial gene; one for what we predicted would cause "super-strength". We called it the Superman Gene." He nodded to Astrid, "Your guess reminded me of this."

"In short, we tried to insert the gene into young men, and when that failed, adolescent boys. Something was wrong. It wasn't attaching itself to the chromosomes correctly—it wouldn't settle. One day, purely by accident, it was administered to a female. It took. But the results were calamitous for the woman—it gave her the strength of ten men, but ate away at her sanity more rapidly than any disease. We decided it wasn't worth the benefits, and destroyed it."

"How would this relate to the supermarket murders?" Olivia didn't want to hear the answer she knew was coming.

"Someone carrying the Superman Gene would have the strength to tear apart these men. Not to mention they would be unstable enough to do it without qualms. But don't worry, the gene was destroyed. Only Jeanine received it, and she would be almost sixty by now—dead without a doubt."

Damn. Sometimes the world liked to sucker-punch you, then kick you while you were down for good measure.

"Walter, the woman you experimented on—did she look anything like this?" Olivia passed the photo of Nicolette over. Walter examined it, and paled.

"It is a startling likeness. Not exact, of course, but most definitely a blood relation. Where did you get this?"

Olivia brushed the question aside. "Do you know what happened to the woman you experimented on? Could she have had any children?"

Walter looked uneasy. "Theoretically, yes."

There was a silence. Peter was the first to break it, voicing the word running through all their minds.

"Shit."

-----------------------------------------

Okay! I re-read some of the last chapters, and the science makes me cringe. But hey, its not supposed to sound realistic, right? Please review :) Only two more chapters to go.


	6. Showdown

A/N: Yes, yes, it has been far too long since this story was updated. Apologies. I'm kind of lazy. But we're nearing the end folks. All that's left after this chapter is an epilogue. Oh-and I think we can safely say that the Peter/Olivia aspects of this story have now become cannon :D

Summary: It's time for the final showdown. And Olivia knows that tonight, either they will die, or she will. Simple, clear cut...terrifying.

**Chapter 5**

If Nicolette was Superwoman, Olivia supposed she herself would be playing Lex Luthor. And Peter Bishop would be the Kryptonite. Except, they're the good guys—they're supposed to win. So why won't her hands stop shaking?

Probably because, in the end, the superhero always comes out on top.

* * *

Olivia paced the short hallway outside her office in Walter's laboratory. She paused every other lap to glance inside, where Peter was making phone calls, trying to rustle up Nicolette's location. From the look on his face, she gathered it was a dead end.

Sure enough, Peter emerged several moments later, shaking his head. "No one seems to know anything. Or if they do, they aren't telling."

Olivia scowled, and leaned against the door, crossing her arms. Peter winced. "I'm sorry, Olivia."

She blinked, and smoothed the anger from her face. She wasn't mad at _him_. "Don't apologize. This isn't your fault."

Peter laughed, but it sounded forced. "I worked with her."

Olivia blinked. "Worked with whom?"

"With Nicolette. We were partnered up for a while—the boss wasn't big on sending new recruits out without backup, and Nicolette'd been there for almost two years. He was worried we'd crack under pressure and turn ourselves in, or some shit like that."

"Wait, two years before you? How old is Nicolette?" She didn't look a day over twenty. Twenty five at the most.

"No one really knows for certain. I'd put her at thirty-four, maybe. A lot older than she looks, I know," he added with a grin, catching Olivia's stunned expression. "But I worked with her for three months, and I didn't notice _anything_."

"You couldn't have known, then," Olivia said, reassuringly. "And she might just have been very skilled at hiding any irregularities when you were together."

Peter shrugged and glanced away. "We were…close. For a while. I should have noticed."

"You were…oh. Oh." Olivia blushed a little, forcing down the irrational surge of jealousy. But at least now she understood Peter's strange reluctance to get involved physically with the case, and Nicolette's oddly flirtatious behavior.

Peter continued, "But I can see it now. She's worse than she was before, but there were signs back then, now that I know what to look for. Everyone was always so frightened of her. I never saw her kill anyone, but she probably didn't want me to. And the look in her eyes, last night—it was like she was a whole different person. Or maybe not even a person at all."

"A shark," Olivia offered, with a small smile, remembering her first impressions.

Peter laughed. "Yeah. Like a shark." Then he sobered, and said, "I think she's responsible for what happened to those people in the supermarket."

Olivia sighed. "Yeah."

Peter glanced over at her, crossing his arms over his chest. "We're going to have to take her out."

"Yeah." Olivia pushed away from the wall. "Let's go talk to Walter."

* * *

Astrid sat back on her stool and watched Walter as he bustled around the laboratory, grabbing bottles and setting them down, and then forgetting where he put them, and asking her where they were, and then starting the whole process over again.

She wasn't worried, though. He was humming the Indiana Jones theme song.

"You know, Walter," she said finally, "you're in a really good mood today."

"What? Oh! Yes, yes indeed," he glanced up at her, eyes twinkling behind plastic goggles, "It's because I am 97.69 percent certain that in the next five minutes, I will have the solution."

"The solution to what," Astrid asked patiently, "Walter?"

He went back to his microscope, "Why, our Superman—or should I say _woman_—dilemma."

The lab door creaked open, and Astrid heard Olivia say, "Finally!"

Peter was with her, and they came down the stairs together. The tension was draining out of Olivia's expression, and when she smiled at Peter she actually looked pleased. Peter attempted a smile, but Astrid could see the way it fell flat the moment Olivia looked away.

Looking energized, Olivia moved to Walter's side. "What have you got for us?"

Without looking up, Walter batted at her with his empty hand; the other was busy pouring precise samples of blue liquid into beakers. "One moment, please Agent Dunham, and you will receive a full report."

Olivia moved away and took a seat next to Astrid. Peter turned and walked into Olivia's office, closing the door quietly. Olivia didn't seem to notice—her eyes were locked on Walter's experiment.

"How long has he been working on this?" Olivia asked in a low voice.

Astrid shrugged. "A few hours, maybe. He's been cheerful, which is usually a good sign."

A sudden, deafening, "AHA!" made both women start. Olivia was on her feet instinctively, and Astrid clutched at her wildly beating heart with a gasp.

"I have it now, ladies!" Walter held up a small beaker containing a pale green liquid, his expression triumphant. His eyes scanned the room quickly, and his smile faltered. "Where is Peter?"

"I'm right here, Walter."

Peter stepped out of the office, closing the door quietly. Astrid noticed Olivia shoot him a curious look, to which he replied with a minute shake of his head. Then they all turned their attention back to Walter.

"Explain it to us, Walter," Olivia said.

"This," Walter brandished the beaker with dangerous enthusiasm—Astrid stepped forward and took it gently away before any of the liquid spilled, "is an antidote, of sorts, for the Superman Gene. It will latch onto the mutations in our speciman's DNA and reverse them, thereby also reversing the effects of the gene. All you must do is inject the antidote into the speciman's bloodstream. It should take effect within minutes."

"Minutes." Astrid could see the gears turning behind Olivia's eyes. She saw when something clicked. "Thanks, Walter. That's fantastic."

Peter came down the lab steps, moving purposefully toward Astrid. She offered him the beaker, and he took it with a nod of thanks. He turned, then, and put his hand on Olivia's forearm. "I'm coming with you."

Olivia looked at him for a long moment. Then, with a strange smile, said, "As you wish."

* * *

Nicolette paced the length of the room restlessly, like a caged animal. The harsh slap of her feet against the linoleum floor formed a sort of harmony against the measured breathing of the man who sat motionless on the couch behind her.

She glanced at the clock, irritation building. Peter had said to meet him here at eight o'clock, to discuss the best way to wrap up the FBI investigation, quickly and cleanly. No one implicated, everyone cleared of suspicion, no unnecessary deaths. Well, maybe a bit of the latter. But she hadn't told Peter that. He was rather softhearted, after all.

It was why she'd never hunted with him back when they were partners under Big Eddie's gang. She didn't want him to see her before he was ready for it. Something told her he was ready, now. He'd contacted her, after all.

A smile crept across her face. He wanted to see her again. He was coming home to her. He still loved her. He hadn't said it yet, not in so many words, but she knew. Julius would let her marry Peter, she was certain. After all, he'd said Peter would be _all hers_ once they got whatever information Julius needed for Big Eddie.

And then they were gonna blow this joint, because it sucked, and Big Eddie had promised them a vacation. She was going to take Peter somewhere fun. Maybe Florida. She liked hunting gators—their jaws were almost as strong as hers, and in the water, they were deadly. Almost as deadly as she was. Almost a challenge.

But why weren't they here yet?

"Patience, Nicolette," came Julius' calm voice. "They will come."

They damn well better. It was probably his female partner, Nicolette thought viciously. The blonde bitch was keeping Peter from running to be with her. Well, let the girl enjoy her last few hours. After all, Nicolette was going to rip her to shreds before dawn. Maybe Peter would want to watch.

The idea was intriguing, and she paused in her pacing to consider it. Then she heard the footsteps on the stairs.

Julius lifted his head, eyes gleaming in the dark. She smiled slowly, and he raised a finger to his lips.

_Shhh._

* * *

Olivia glanced at Peter for confirmation, then waved the other FBI agents off. "I'll take point. Peter Bishop will accompany me to facilitate negotiations. If we're not out in twenty minutes, assume we've been subdued or worse, and you have permission to enter by force."

The FBI Agent was a redheaded woman of about thirty five, with laugh lines etched around her mouth, and the corners of her eyes. But she wasn't laughing as she saluted Olivia, and turned back to repeat the orders to her team. Olivia stepped forward into the abandoned apartment building, and Peter followed.

The door closed with an ominous thump behind them.

They climbed the first flight of stairs in silence, straining to see in the darkness.

"Should have brought a flashlight," Olivia murmured.

"Yeah," Peter whispered.

Olivia stopped suddenly on the stairs, and turned to face him. He almost stepped into her, and grabbed the railing to keep from overbalancing.

"Olivia?"

She took a deep breath, and said quickly, "Peter, I just wanted to thank you for doing this. I know how dangerous this is, especially for you, and in case something happens—"

She leaned forward and kissed him.

Peter dropped the railing in shock, but then he was leaning closer and slipping his hands behind her head.

She pulled away after a moment, breathless. His teeth flashed white in the gloom as he smiled at her, and she felt something in her chest ease.

His hands fell away from her hair, and he whispered, "Let's do this."

She nodded and turned back to the stairs. Somehow they made it up all three flights without tripping—thank the stars for small mercies. It would have been very undignified to announce their arrival by tripping and falling down two flights of stairs and landing right in front of Agent Connors, whom she'd practically promised never to see again.

And now her mind was running in circles, like a hyperactive puppy. It was the nerves.

But all thoughts of fuzzy animals died away when they reached the third floor. Peter raised his hand, and knocked twice. There was no answer for two long minutes. Then, seemingly of its own accord, the door creaked open. Olivia stepped inside, and came face to face with Julius.

"Good evening, Agent Dunham," he said courteously.

Olivia nodded curtly, then glanced behind him. She found Nicolette lurking by the enormous couch a few feet away. Nicolette's eyes locked on hers, and Olivia was startled by the pure loathing that emanated from the girl.

"Nicolette," she said quietly, "you are under arrest for the murder of twenty seven individuals on the night of September 14th, in the supermarket at 120 N. Washington. You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say—"

Nicolette charged.

Olivia saw her come, almost as if it were in slow motion. There was no mistaking the look in Nicolette's eyes for anything other than madness, now. Then Olivia felt herself become airborne and she snapped into action.

She grabbed her gun and managed to squeeze the trigger twice before she hit the floor with a jarring thud. Nicolette howled like a wounded animal and kicked the gun out of Olivia's hand. Blood was gushing from a bullet wound in her stomach—the other must have gone wide.

_The antidote!_

With a sudden cold flash of fear, Olivia reached into the front pocket of her jacket. She relaxed slightly when her fingers brushed unbroken glass, and she pulled out the syringe, hiding it in the palm of her hand.

Nicolette was moving again now, more slowly than before, but the blood flow seemed to be stemming. Superhuman healing. It almost didn't seem fair. Nicolette lunged forward once more, in a fake, but Olivia moved with her and stabbed out with the syringe.

It caught Nicolette in the neck, too late. Nicolette took advantage of Olivia's nearness to grab her wrist. Olivia cried out as she felt the bone snap. Sharp, animalistic teeth closed on her shoulder, and bit through tissue and muscle, tearing with vicious force.

She was getting dizzy from rapid blood loss. Dimly, Olivia heard the sound of gunshots, three in quick succession. The pressure on her shoulder eased, and the steely hands dropped away from her wrist. Without that support, Olivia's legs refused to hold her up, and she crashed to the floor.

Darkness swirled before her eyes. She thought maybe someone was holding her hand, someone was screaming for help. Someone was whispering in her ear—

"Hold on Olivia, just hold on. Don't leave me."

But maybe she was imagining it all. The sounds were already fading into a pleasant humming noise. Maybe they had never been articulate in the first place, and the voices were figments of her exhausted mind.

Maybe this was what it felt like to die.

And softly, quietly, she felt herself slip away.

* * *

Fin.

(except for the epilogue)


End file.
